


don't go far off

by sarahyyy



Category: Les Misérables (2012), Les Misérables - All Media Types, Les Misérables - Victor Hugo
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-05
Updated: 2014-07-05
Packaged: 2018-02-07 13:43:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,213
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1901181
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sarahyyy/pseuds/sarahyyy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>For a moment, he thinks that Enjolras will walk away, will close the door to the linen closet and walk away, because that would be the Right Thing to do, and Enjolras is all about doing the right things, but he doesn’t. Instead, he takes a step in and closes the door behind him, sits down on the ground right next to Grantaire and just <i>stays</i>.</p>
            </blockquote>





	don't go far off

**Author's Note:**

> [Cassie made me write the thing](http://sarah-yyy.tumblr.com/post/90839668073/dear-drunk-sarah-i-reckon-that-should-be-a-fic-where).

For a moment, he thinks that Enjolras will walk away, will close the door to the linen closet and walk away, because that would be the Right Thing to do, and Enjolras is all about doing the right things, but he doesn’t. Instead, he takes a step in and closes the door behind him, sits down on the ground right next to Grantaire and just _stays_. 

They don’t speak for a really long moment, and Grantaire thinks about preserving the silence, thinks about how they used to be always at their calmest when they weren’t speaking, but he’s drunk and he’s sad and he’s hiding in a fucking linen closet when he should be out there drinking and having fun with his friends, so he turns his head sideways, looks at Enjolras, and says, “I’m not okay, E.” He feels tears pricking in his eyes and wants to laugh. He is supposed to be over this. He told everyone he was over this. “I am really, _really_ not okay.”

Enjolras closes his eyes. “You’re supposed to be happy. Happier.”

“I’m not,” Grantaire replies. He takes a swig of his whiskey. “But hey, at least I put on a pretty good show, right?”

Enjolras’ smile is tight. “You looked happy,” he says, voice quiet.

“I’m not,” Grantaire repeats, and isn’t proud of the way his voice cracks in the middle.

Enjolras is quiet. Grantaire takes another drink of his whiskey, passes the bottle to Enjolras, and only feels marginally surprised when Enjolras accepts it and takes a swig from it before returning the bottle to Grantaire. 

“We were playing truth or dare just now and Marius asked me to describe my last kiss,” Grantaire says. “I had to make something up because I couldn’t remember.” He drinks. “I tried so hard to remember. I couldn’t.”

Enjolras doesn’t say anything.

“It was doing well,” Grantaire says quietly. “ _We_ were doing well.”

Enjolras reaches out for Grantaire’s bottle of whiskey and Grantaire lets him have it because he isn’t sure if he wants Enjolras to say anything, isn’t sure if he has it in him to listen to Enjolras say anything.

“I was happy,” Grantaire says. 

“You weren’t,” Enjolras is quick to answer.

“Don’t tell me how I felt.” The surge of anger is familiar, at least. “I know how I felt.

“I wasn’t good for you,” Enjolras says, and Grantaire wants to cry because hearing it for the second time doesn’t make it any easier. “I spent too much time studying and I didn’t spend enough time with you. I didn’t make you happy, not the way you deserved to be happy.” 

Grantaire hears the words for what they really mean: _he_ didn’t make Enjolras happy, not the way Enjolras wanted to be.

He snatches the bottle back from Enjolras and throws back a large gulp of drink. “I hate you.”

“I know,” Enjolras says.

And that should be it, that should be the last thing Enjolras says to him, he should leave Grantaire alone, should get up on his feet and put some distance between them, should go downstairs, rejoin the party, or leave early and return to his dorm, he should do that, because _Grantaire can’t_ , but he doesn’t.

“It was raining,” Enjolras says. “I was running late for my morning lecture. You’d already missed yours, but you were still lounging in bed and I reached over you to grab my phone from the nightstand, and you pushed yourself up on your elbows and kissed me.” He smiles. It looks forced, looks fake, looks sad. Grantaire looks away. “It was a soft, barely there kiss. A _goodbye, I’ll see you later_ kiss. I wanted to stay in bed with you, you wanted me to stay in bed with you. I didn’t.”

Grantaire doesn’t turn to look back at Enjolras. Is afraid of what he might do if he turns over to look at Enjolras. 

“I hate you,” Grantaire says, and this time when he blinks, his tears start falling. He clenches his hands into fists, hits them on the ground, hard. Does it again, harder, hopes that the pain will help him to focus. It doesn’t. “I’m not happy like this.”

Enjolras puts his hand over Grantaire’s. “You’re supposed to be.”

“But I’m not,” Grantaire says harshly. 

Enjolras takes his hand back, pushes the bottle of whiskey closer to Grantaire instead. A peace offering that Grantaire ignores. 

“I said _I’ll see you tonight_ ,” he says. “And you said- You said-” He breaks off, closes his eyes and wills himself not to break into sobs. 

“I said _okay_ ,” Enjolras finishes for him. 

“You said _okay_ ,” Grantaire says. “And then you _left_. You didn’t give me a chance to choose, you didn’t give me a chance to fight for us. You made the decision for us and then _you left_.”

“I did what I thought was the right thing to do,” Enjolras says. “I thought you would be happier-”

“I’m not!” Grantaire yells, because he’s been saying that all night and Enjolras hasn’t been listening. “I’m not happier this way. I’m not!”

He doesn’t pull away when Enjolras reaches out to pull him into a hug, doesn’t do anything except to wrap his arms around Enjolras and cling on tight when Enjolras rubs his back and tells him _it’s okay, I’m here, it’s okay_. 

“I’m not okay, E,” he breathes out when he’s finally managed to control himself, when he’s no longer a shaking wreck of emotions in Enjolras’ arms. “I was, before. But I’m not okay now. I want to be okay, I’m trying my best, and maybe I will be okay one day, but I’m not now.”

“I didn’t mean to hurt you,” Enjolras says. “I never wanted you to be not okay. I just- I just wanted you to be happy.” He runs his thumb over Grantaire’s cheek, wipes the tears there away. “I did the exact opposite, I made you sad. I never meant to.” He presses his lips gently to Grantaire’s cheeks, to the same spot he had his thumb on just a few moments ago. “I’m sorry,” he whispers. 

Grantaire leans into him and just breathes for a minute. “So what happens now?” he asks eventually. 

“Now I go back downstairs,” Enjolras says, and tightens his hold on Grantaire and presses a kiss to his hair when he tenses up, “and I make an excuse to leave the party early. Tomorrow I’ll show up at your place and I’ll apologise for being an idiot. You can punch me in the face if you want to, you _should_ punch me in the face if you want to, because you’re much less forgiving when you’re sober. I’ll let you and then I’ll ask you to let me take you out for breakfast. You can say no. I’ll come by again to ask you out for lunch if you do. And dinner again, if you still say no. I’ll keep coming back again until you’re okay, until _we’re_ okay, okay?” 

“Okay,” Grantaire says, but he fists his hand in Enjolras’ t-shirt. “Can we stay here just a little longer?” 

“Yeah,” Enjolras says, and settles against the wall, shifts so Grantaire is more on less on his lap. “As long as you want.”

**Author's Note:**

> Title from [that Neruda thing](http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/don-t-go-far-off/).
> 
> I'm [here on tumblr](http://sarah-yyy.tumblr.com), come say hi! :D


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